Are These Hard to Wash?
by LinkehCrescent
Summary: Just a little Sweenett, nothing more to say.


Mrs. Lovett looked worriedly up, as though she was frightened it was going to rain. The fear was valid, as in London, it seemed to always be cold and raining. But no, the woman was inside, and staring at her molding ceiling.

It was the barber upstairs that was worrying her. She wasn't sure how sleeping with her would effect him, and the reaction it drew from him obviously wasn't good. Tears trickled down her smooth face as the thought that she hadn't been good enough for him inhabited her mind once again. She wiped the water droplets off on the back of her hand, smearing flour in their place. If only she could know what he was doing. What he was thinking. What he thought about her.

Up above, the barber was slouched in a corner, his face buried in his hands. A razor was held in his hand and pressed against his forehead, its warming metal welcome and familiar, but it did little to comfort the raging man. Lucy. His Lucy. How could he ever have done such a thing to her? What in the world had he been thinking? Sleeping with Mrs. Lovett... it was the stupidest thing he had ever done. All he wanted to do was rush down the steps and slice the throat of the woman that tempted him, that had lured him willingly into her bed, but he couldn't make himself do anything against her. Because he knew, no matter how much he hated himself for it, that he had enjoyed every moment. He knew that his mouth watered at the sight of the pie-maker down stairs. He knew that her form took his fancy. He knew that he craved her with a burning passion, a passion that was slowly eating away everything he had ever felt before; everything he had thought he had ever felt. It was as though his Lucy had never even existed.

No! He mustn▓t think this way!

The razor skidded across the wood floor as the barber flew to his feet, somehow managing to miss knocking his head into the low ceiling. But still, deep inside, he knew he didn't mean it.

"You need to move on."

Mrs. Lovett's words echoed in his head. She was right... she always seemed to be right...

Wait, no! What was he thinking? He flopped down into his chair, suddenly tempted to hit the lever and send himself to his own demise. The judge was dead, his wife was dead, so what did it matter if he was alive or not? His wife was dead... so what did it matter if he maybe felt a slight affection for Mrs. Lovett? What did it matter if he gave her what she wanted, and what he realized he wanted? Most men re-married when their first wife had passed anyway, so why should he be any different? He reached down and picked up his razor, gently clicking it open. He studied his muddled reflection in the blade. If his Lucy were still alive, would she still love him as this monster? He knew Mrs. Lovett loved him anyway he could possibly be, and he knew it would be impossible for him to sway her opinion of him to anything less then love. Ah, Mrs. Lovett... he wondered what she was doing. He seemed to fall to the ground, but he crouched on his knees and pressed his ear to the floorboard. He could hear the steady beat of her rolling pin and something else... was that sobbing? Was she crying? What in all of London was she crying about? He quickly pushed himself up from the floor and slipped the razor into it's hollister at his side, making sure to snap together the button keeping his friend in its spot.

Sweeney exited his shop with a small push on the door and descended the steps to the pie shop, his hand held out, yet barely touching the railing. He peered through the grimy window of the shop before entering and saw no one. As he slipped soundlessly inside, he heard the sobbing more clearly this time, coming from behind the counter. The man's forehead wrinkled in surprise and he took the few steps that led him to the counter. The sobbing immediately softened at the sound of shoes on stone.

"Mrs. Lovett?" asked the barber, looking over the counter at the crying woman.

"Oh, Mr. Todd!" He eyes were red from crying and her face was smeared thickly with flour, as if she had been applying it to her face purposefully. She scurried to her feet, using the counter to pull herself up, and quickly wiped her face off with a cloth, removing the flour, but not removing the pained look on her face that was clearly caused by the man's entering into her shop.

Todd moved around the counter and over to her. She watched him carefully, but gave up with watching him as he wrapped his arms around her waist and instead closed her eyes with pleasure.

"Ooh, Mr. T," she whispered, the normal smile taking residence on her face. "I--"

Her comment was quickly cut off as he kissed her, and she threw her arms around him, eagerly doing her part. Her fingers played down his neck, the tips still cool and wet from her now dried tears. He felt all the tension and pain ease from her, and from him as well. He didn't realize that she was pushing him slowly backwards until he felt the carpet of her parlor under his feet. She pulled away from him for a moment to take a breath.

"Had to get away from those windows, love. Never should've moved me shop into a building full of windows."

He barely registered what she said. He wanted her again so badly. He had made the decision that his wife was dead, and he was going to back that decision by doing one of things that he always looked forward to, no matter how many times he had done so before. She caught on to his mood immediately and her face lit up. The woman escorted him playfully back into her bedroom, where she closed the door behind him. They gazed at each other for a moment, until she decided she couldn't wait any longer and once again threw herself at him. He caught her and met her forceful kiss gladly. Apparently, she hadn't gotten out everything she had been saving just for him last night. He sunk onto her bed and she began unbuttoning his clothing, letting her fingers work at the buttons while her mouth moved with his. He moved his mouth to her ear.

"Dang it, woman!" he murmured to her. "How does this dress come off?!"

She leaned against him, laughing softly at his impatient remark.

"You've distracted me; I can't remember which one I have on."

"It's black," replied the man unhelpfully, now seeing the tie that his hands had been searching for. With a pull it was loose, and the dress was off. Margery sniffled lightly.

"Try not to dirty it, dear," she remarked, taking the dress from him and throwing it onto a nearby chair. "That thing's a bugger to wash."

"But you'd already gotten flour all over it, my pet," he observed, his eyes drifting down to the strings holding her corset on her. She caught his gaze and continued the conversation almost teasingly.

"Aye, flour, not dirt. There's a difference, if you hadn't noticed."

He sighed, bringing his eyes up to meet her own. "Quickly now, before I change my mind."

She gasped and hastily wrapped her fingers around the strings to where with one pull, it would be off. "Would you really change your mind, love?"

He pulled her hand gently, letting the strings slide pass each other and loosen. "No, love, I wouldn't."

Sweeney slipped the corset off over her head and threw it to the floor. Lovett watched him with distaste. ⌠Those things are buggers to wash too...■

She went silent as he moved her off of his leg so he could take off his trousers. After that, she pulled him down until they were both lying facing each other, so close that the tips of their noses were touching. She went cold with excitement as she felt his hand on her hip.

"Are these hard to wash?" asked the barber, his voice warm on the woman's face. He gently ran his finger down the waistband of her panties, making her skin tingle.

"Me, or me undergarments?" her voice was light, and she tried to sound uninterested in what they were talking about.

His fingers wrapped around the thinner part of the garment on the outside of her leg. She wanted to scream with pleasure.

"You're undergarments."

She paused for a moment, as if thinking. "No, not especially. You can just throw them in the floor if you want, love."

He did just that, and she laid a hand against his chest, stroking his cooling skin. She felt cold herself, except for the area below her waist.

"It's rather chilly in here, don't'cha think, Mr. T?" She pulled a quilt over both of them and pressed closer to him, snuggling against his chest.

The tips of his fingers traced patterns up and down her back, and she closed her eyes and let out a soft sigh. The room was quiet for a moment, their breathing the only sound in the room. He rested his cheek against the top of her head.

His earlier thoughts about him sleeping Mrs. Lovett being foolish soon dissolved as he let his fingers play down her thigh. She opened her eyes as his fingers got tauntingly close to where she wanted something else to be...

But the night was early, and he had already had her once in less than twenty-four hours. His arm wrapped around her and he gently rolled her over so she was facing him again.

"My love, my pet," whispered the man, stroking her jaw line. She watched his eyes for any emotion as he spoke the words, but saw nothing in the darkness. She knew her love for him was too much to be hid at the moment, and the thought that he couldn't even show it made her want to cry.

She hurriedly chased the thoughts away. He was here with her, for the second time, wasn't he? Surely he felt something for her. Surely she meant something to him. Surely he had realized that when she had said that splendors he had never seen would be his, she had meant just this. Surely... surely she had finally completed her goal to replace Lucy in his life... Surely...


End file.
